The banshee scream tears through the night

And chills the hearts of mortal men

The full moon drifts behind the clouds

Throwing what little light it can

Eerie shadows on the gnarled old trees

Grab like skeletal fingers in the dark

I quicken my pace, my feet begin to race

To leave this deathly tombstone park

 A night owl hoots in the trees above

Where I stop to gasp and pant

I hold my side and again run

As the bull-frogs strangely chant

Blindly through this night of hell

I’m lost in this place of souls set free

On all Saint’s Night they roam at will

I fear they’re hoping to take me

A siren blares in the distance

Of the safe world I so craved

I feel cold death at my back

I now know I can’t be saved   

In a crumpled heap I fall and fall

Slimey mud paints me in its gloom

A long way down from level ground

Then sleep takes me from this doom

I hear a man laughing high above

He’s leaning on his tool of trade

The gravedigger’s voice calls down to me

“Here young man, grab the spade”

With his help I gain my solid footing

In the warmth of dawn’s early sun

I pretend to think it’s really funny

But ‘twas the spirits who had fun!